


will it wash away this jet black feeling?

by glitziied



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Based on a My Chemical Romance Song, Family Member Death, M/M, Minor Violence, Thats a Tag?, i dont think these two could ever truly be happy, talking about your feelings but not really, you ever vibe with an mcr song you create an entire au for it?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitziied/pseuds/glitziied
Summary: “I don’t want them to ever hurt you.”The words hang in the air, and Jon’s heart is dropping with every second of it, because he has no idea what Tim is going to say next but he doesn’t like it.
Relationships: Danny Stoker & Tim Stoker (Mentioned), Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker
Comments: 7
Kudos: 52





	will it wash away this jet black feeling?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nazgularepeopletoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nazgularepeopletoo/gifts).



“Jon, I’m back!” Tim calls from the front entrance.

Tim has promised that if he ever gets bitten, he won’t return to him. He won’t risk it. But still, Jon scans his voice for any sign that he might be _different_ , even though everyone has always sounded the same after they get turned. Once he’s decided that things are safe (obviously, he chides himself), he slides out from the little spot in the kitchen they’ve been using as a place to store their few things before they inevitably have to leave in a few days.

Jon has an old jacket slung around his shoulders, the once-black material now a fading grey. It’s been through a lot, but it’s comfortable and surprisingly warm.

“Did you find anything?” Jon asks, though Tim obviously did. His hands are in the pockets of his sweatshirt, obviously trying to conceal the shape of something.

“Just a package of crackers and some canned vegetables,” he says, pulling them both out and placing them on the dust-covered coffee table. Jon sits on one of the splintering wooden chairs beside it and picks up the items, looking them over before setting them down again. The vegetables aren’t a brand he recognizes, the crackers are.

“You should have let me come with you.”

Tim shakes his head. “Two attract more attention than one.”

They both know that’s not why he doesn’t like having Jon with him.

But there’s a tension in his voice, something past the usual disappointment of not finding _enough._ Jon frowns. “Tim, what is it?” He asks, voice firm.

“Well I… I found something else.”

Unease creeps up Jon’s back, settling against his shoulder bones and pressing at his spin. He doesn’t like the unknown, despite the unknown being, ironically, the only thing they can count on nowadays. “What is it?”

Tim looks to the side, like he doesn’t really want to show Jon, then pulls out the last thing from his pocket and tosses it lightly onto the table.

It takes him a moment to realize what it is, not because it could be mistaken for anything else, but because of how much Jon doesn’t believe it at first.

“Tim, where did you find this?” He’s up to his feet again, staring down at what is unmistakingly a _wooden stake_ , and a quality one made of [wood], silver lining the point of it and all. This isn’t something that should be just lying around a crumbled down town like this, which has seen dozens of travellers just like Tim and Jon pass through, human and vampire alike.

“I don’t know what it was doing there!” Tim says in defence. “But I sure as hell wasn’t going to just leave it lying there, we have no idea when it could be useful.”

He’s right, Jon isn’t complaining about having one of the best protections known to man in his possession. Sure, anyone can chip away a wooden stake if they want, but those rougher ones can get a bit… messier. Jon still has nightmares about the sickening _crunching_ of ribs, of browning gore painting his hands, and that stench, so _awful_ , that made him vomit the moment the adrenaline died down.

Tim starts gathering up the couple of items and puts them back in his pocket. He motions with a tilt of his head towards the kitchen, and Jon follows. 

“We don’t have any alcohol left, right?” Tim asks dryly as he tucks the food into their bag. Jon watches him hesitate as if considering whether or not to pull the stake from his jacket and then choosing not to.

“No, we finished it all last week. You’re talking about that crappy whiskey, right?” Jon responds, stopping in the doorway.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Shame, it’s hard to come by these days.”

Tim settles underneath the countertop, where the wooden cabinet has been torn away by someone in the past to create a small cleared out spot where they could sleep under if they weren’t too picky on the amount of space. He looks up at Jon and pats the floor beside him, beckoning the other over. His eyes are tired, and it randomly comes to Jon that it’s such a contrast to the way they’d shined with hope, with excitement in life, the first time they’d met so many yet so few years before. Jon settles down next to him and rests his head on the Tim’s shoulder, Tim’s arm curling around his side in an instinctual, protective manner.

They sit in a silence that’s become all too familiar these past few months.

Tim sighs, but doesn’t say anything.

Jon tilts his face up ever so slightly. He can tell when there’s something on his mind. “Just spit it out.” 

TIm doesn’t seem to want to, but eventually asks, “Can you… promise me something?”

“Not without knowing what it is first.” He doesn’t like the tone in Tim’s voice.

Tim lays his head back against the dingy tile. “I’ve just been thinking, and…” 

“And?”

“I don’t want them to ever hurt you.” 

The words hang in the air, and Jon’s heart is dropping with every second of it, because he has no idea what Tim is going to say next but he _doesn’t_ like it.

“I don’t ever want to hurt you.” 

“Tim,” Jon starts slowly, “What are you saying?”

It takes several more moments before the other responds. “Promise that if they… if they get me you _will_ stake my heart.”

It’s not like they haven’t talked about the possibility of one of them turning before, but this is different. There’s a tinge of desperation in Tim’s voice, pleading with him nearly, and they’ve never directly said the words ‘ _kill me if I turn’_ despite the knowledge that it would immediately be what must be done.

Jon sits up. “ _Tim.”_

“Don’t _Tim_ me,” Tim snaps, whatever helplessness that wormed its way into his voice seconds ago dissipating. “I just need to be sure that you will. There’s nothing worse than the thought that I’ll get turned and _I’ll_ be the one who hurts you and there is nothing I hate more than the thought of that happening to someone else I love.”

The word love is tainted with a bitterness they’ve all grown accustomed to.

(Tim still wakes up with tears streaming down his face, incoherently going on about how his brother looked at him as he tried to bite him, how his brother looked at him as Tim _killed_ him, how his brother was the last person he told he loved which means that a vampire was the last thing he ever said that to. How he can pretend all he wants it was his brother but it wasn’t and he isn’t sure which version hurts more. 

How his brother said it back.

Love isn’t a word that Timothy Stoker uses anymore.)

Jon wants to argue more, wants to tell him to _shut up_ and that Jon isn’t willing to let that happen as much as Tim is willing to let Jon get bitten either, but all the energy for a fight has suddenly left his bones. He sags back down against Tim’s side.

“I’m not going to promise it, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t take care of myself if the situation arises,” is what Jon settles with.

He can tell that Tim wants to argue with him, but they both know that there’s no way either is getting any further in this conversation.

So Tim just shifts and pulls Jon closer so that he’s held tight in Tim’s arms, the side of his head pressed against Tim’s chest. Tim gently runs a hand over Jon’s hair, ragged and grown out and full of knots that neither of them take time to untangle any more. It’s not the most comfortable position for Jon and probably isn’t for Tim either, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

**Author's Note:**

> can you tell i listened to a weeks worth of i brought you my bullets you brought me your love last year
> 
> anyways i might genuinely make this a whole au because i have more ideas but like, no promises cause i always say im going to write things and then dont
> 
> thank you for reading!! it means a lot to me and i hope you enjoyed it <3 feel free to leave comments and feedback!


End file.
